My Beautiful
by valthestampede
Summary: A year after ep. 26, Faye is not taking it well. But can she climb out of the pit of corruption she has fallen into? And will Spike.... will Spike?!
1. Life's a bitch, then you die

Ha, I don't own Cowboy Bebop. And no one I know does, either. I wish I did, it's really good. But alas, that is not to be. And if you cry, it's not my fault. Really. Reviews are appreciated, very very much. And it's all Faye's POV. So, enjoy!  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
My Beautiful  
Chapter One- Life's a bitch, then you die  
  
  
  
I've seen the movies. We all have. The romance movies, where two star-crossed lovers, destined to be together, finally surrender to a night of passion. They wake up the next morning, in each other's arms, and smile at each other. Their bodies are entwined, wrapped in cool white sheets, and the wind blows the billowing white curtains open, letting sunlight and birdsong in, and the tender music is going full force. They smile sweetly at one another, and all is right with the world.  
  
That's how it's supposed to go. Not like this. It shouldn't be raining, the bed shouldn't be this creaky horror, and I shouldn't be waking up next to this... thing. This cheap man, in this cheap motel room, with the neon red vacancy sign burning itself into my retina. I shouldn't need a cigarette this much.   
  
Once again, the circle of disgust is renewed. Slowly, so as not to wake whoever the hell it is I debauched myself with last night, I collect my clothes and flee from the scene of my destruction. I've lost track of all the nights this has happened, they're too many to count, even if I had been sober for all of them. Which I most definitely was not. This cycle is an everlasting track of filth, and I couldn't escape. Sometimes I wonder if I even want to. Probably not. It keeps my mind off of... certain things. If I don't have to think, I won't think of him. And thinking of him is what I want to avoid most.   
  
But this can't go on much longer, I'm just a used up shell now, my mind has retreated, leaving my body to fend for itself, supplying my base needs. The world is just a whirl of bright lights, bad liquor, bad company, and cheap cigarettes. I hide in bars and clubs, hidden worlds of lust, where no one goes home alone. I can't remember the last time I actually ate. It was probably last night, but I never know. The remains of my beaten brain send a signal to my pounding body, and my body obeys, but now I wonder if my body is slave to my brain, or is my brain the one in chains?  
  
I wish I could leave, I want to leave, but my body has been in charge for too long. My brain cannot control it anymore. I guess I'm waiting for something. My prince in shining armor, complete with white horse accessory package. But there are no princes anymore, not in my world of sin. The only prince I'd ever known was not destined to be my dream, but was lost in the dream of another, more worthy princess.   
  
I was no longer worthy of any of his love, not that he could save me anyway. My degraded, dirty body is fit only to go through these corrupted motions, again and again, until I die of alcohol poisoning, or drug overdose, or both. What a pitiful end Faye Valentine has come to. And for a while I thought I showed some real promise.   
  
Stopping at a street corner, I light up another cigarette, and die in my addiction. A long release of smoke, and I feel a bit better. Take a puff and all your worries disappear, lose yourself to the nicotine. Breathe in smoke, blow out life. I walk slowly down the street, the only thing covering me is the shame of my life, and my clinging, flowing, ever present companion.   
  
I'm slowly starting to realize that my prince will never come. Once again, the only thing that will get me out of this is myself. Companions just abandon you, they die, they leave you out in the cold. The problem is, how do you save yourself when you're your only enemy?  
  
  
  
**  
  
  
  
I told you it was depressing, yes? But I promise that it'll get better, we all know that Faye's stronger than that! Go Faye! Anyway, review me! Favorable reviews are good, but so are criticisms, just let loose!   
  
~val~ 


	2. Elegance

Well, I don't know exactly where this is going, I basically wrote the first chapter in a fit of inspiration and significance (the music didn't help either). What I don't wanna do is make another fic where Spike saves Faye, cause we all know she's stronger than that. She can take care of herself. Well, um, most of the time. Hell, I'm still not sure if Spike's gonna be alive or not yet. Oh well, I know where I want this chapter to go, so that's cool.   
  
Oh, and I don't own Cowboy Bebop. Yah, like anyone'd believe I did.  
  
  
***  
  
  
My Beautiful  
Ch. 2- Elegance  
  
  
There is something to be said about the beer on Mars. It's thick as treacle and sweet as sin, and it washes your worldly worries away. I take a gulp of mine- Thurber's Extra Thick (est. 2056)- and idly wonder who Thurber was. I've certainly had enough of his 'quality brews' to last me a lifetime. I'm probably a huge source of income for him. Hell, I could've payed for an entire factory by now. Maybe he'd loan me some money, it's just fair.   
  
I lean my head down on the bar, not even caring that the surface is sticky with the unique ooze that can only be cultivated by long years of alcohol spills. My hair, which has grown considerably longer during the last year, fans around me, a violet curtain, my shield from the hurt of the world. Peering out from my veil, I spy on the other occupants of the bar. There are seven prostitutes, thirteen loners, three victims of heartbreak, eight down-on-their-luck bounty hunters, five pilots, and one nervous businessman. All come to dull their pain with the magical amber potion.  
  
I really need to change my life. I had hit upon this idea when I stopped to get cigarettes this afternoon. I had looked deep into the window pane in front of the store, and, for the first time, had been utterly disgusted by what I saw. I wasn't a Faye I liked. Not that I had ever been, but this time I hated me. Cheap, corrupted, wasted, empty. These are the words of my life. And I'm tired of it.  
  
Sighing, I drain the last of my beer, slap some woolongs on the bar, and walk out. The first step to self-redemption will have to be getting some money, and keeping it for more than a week. I had made my money off of some quite unsavory means, and I don't want to do that anymore. Something legal would be nice. Maybe it's time to think about bounty-hunting again.   
  
The life doesn't appeal to me, hunting down others for money, in a profession where blood flowed freely as water, but I don't have much of a choice. It's not as if I have any other valuable skills.  
  
Shivering, I hunker down into my now tattered red jacket. It's technically July, but on this side of Mars, it's cold as space. Looking upward, I think about space, that empty, freezing void that sucks life away in instants. I'll have to return there, now that I've decided to go back to bounty hunting. My only clear memories of my past life are of an accident in space. It was horrible, to say the least. But I can't let a past life keep me away from earning money in this life, now can I?   
  
I stop in front of my apartment building, and head up to my room. It's not technically mine, I stopped paying for it a few months ago, but so far no one's kicked me out. I don't think it's worth the cost of evicting me. The walls are seeping with moisture, the floors are crawling with roaches, and the bathroom only drips out yellow water. Still, it's a place to sleep where I can actually be alone. It's still cold in here, the heat doesn't work, so I take out a heavier coat, and wrap myself up.   
  
Laying on the spring-less bed, I think about my options. There aren't that many. My ship has just about had it, I need a new gun, and I have no money. I don't think I'll be able to do this alone. So I get up and walk over to my phone (which, miraculously, works today). I dial in a number, and a gruff voice answers.  
  
"What d'ya want?"  
  
I smile, he's still the same.  
  
"Hey, Jet, it's been awhile..."  
  
  
  
Two days later, I stand in front of my former home. I can't believe he actually let me back on the Bebop. Grabbing my bag firmly in one hand, I take a step up to the ship.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
OK, that was short, I know, but I got done what I wanted done. Now, the question is, should Spike be on the ship? Or at the syndicate? *Pulls at her hair* I DON'T KNOOOOOOOOW.... *cries* I have almost no idea what's going to happen! Isn't that sad? Oh well, you tell me what you think, OK? I'll be eagerly awaiting your responses.   
  
~Val~ 


	3. Back to Eden

Ha, okay, after reading your reviews I have decided (finally!) on the whole Spike problem. No, I'm not going to tell you- you have to read, duh! This is the problem with starting stories without a plot in mind. I need to stop doing that. Ahem, enough with my mini-rant, I now need to start typing this up.  
  
Oh, and ... gosh, do I even have to say it? Fine. I don't own Cowboy Bebop.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
My Beautiful  
Ch. 3- Back to Eden  
  
  
I breathe in deeply before stepping onto the ship. This is my golden opportunity, my magic ticket that will take me away from the ignominy of my life. Damn, I'm going to be even more in debt to Jet. But, this time, I don't really mind. At this point, I feel as if he deserves just about every penny I get. He's a good man, Jet is. To take me back after all the times I've left. But this time, I won't leave. I'm going to work until I can look at myself in the mirror again, I'm going to regain what little dignity I had.  
  
As I step up the ladder, bag in hand, I wonder what sort of arrival I should expect. If Ed's there, then it will be a happy one. But, Ed probably won't be there, I remember sadly. I kind of liked the kid, while she was around. And Ein will be gone too. I don't mind that as much. I'm not exactly a fan of the canine branch of evolution. But how will Jet react to me? And how much will going back remind me of him? How much of him will I remember? How long will I cry? Just thinking about it makes my eyes water a little.   
  
I step up to the top of the ship. The deck is grimy, as usual, encrusted with the dust of.. well, eons at least. I slam open the button and duck through the entrance. I guess Jet still doesn't lock the ship. Not that there's much to steal anyway. He pauses as he walks across the living room. "Oh, it's you. Hi."  
  
Hi!? I'm gone for over a year and all I get is a HI!? Slightly perturbed, I reply, "Yes. It's me. Hi." I walk past him, doing my best snubbed princess impression, and waltz across the living room in the direction of my room.   
  
"Faye... wait a sec." His voice sounds... odd, strained. Curious, I turn back to him. He looks very nervous- odd, for Jet. "It's... well, you see, after you left... um... well, this is hard to explain."  
  
What on earth is making him stutter so much? "Just spit it out Jet, what's wrong? You do-" I am cut off by the most extraordinary thing. The most unexpected, horrifying, rending, destroying thing. My eyes go wide, my bag falls ever so slowly to the floor, the seconds echo and tumble around me, cascading past at a century's pace. Detached, unreal feelings flood through me, I stumble back in alarm, hand going to my mouth. A shuddering sob escapes my lips.  
  
Spike Spiegel is standing in the entrance to the hall, holding a wrench. I seem to notice every detail of this moment. His hair is a just slightly out of place, and a smudge of grease lines the curve of his left jaw. His eyes, mismatched and beautiful as ever, widen slightly as he sees me, and his mouth opens slightly, allowing the cigarette which had perched on his lip to fall to the floor and extinguish with a soft sizzling sound. He's not wearing his jacket, and his shirt is crumpled and marred with dirt and sweat. His tie is loose around his neck, and is just about as wrinkled as his shirt.   
  
"Faye..."  
  
I back up until I hit the wall, the pain of impact slightly jarring me out of my shock. I feel like I'm in a drug daze, it's so unreal, but it has to be real. I haven't had drugs for days. At least, I think I haven't- maybe I'm just delusional. But it feels real. He looks real. But I know that can't happen either. So I'm at an impasse. It can't happen, but it is, it can't be real, but it has to be.  
  
Jet rubbed his head with his metal hand. "This... was what I wanted to tell you." I turn to stare open mouthed at Jet. He continued on, obviously embarrassed. "Um, a few days after you left, I got a call from a hospital. Someone had found him and brought him in, he was almost dead. It took him nearly two months to recover completely, and..." He trailed off. I turn back to Spike, mouth agape. I feel like I should say something, but I can't. My mouth should spew forth words of wisdom, beauty, and wit, something significant, or deep. But all I can do is weakly stutter.   
  
"Aren't you... dead?" Oh dear, did I just say that? Yes, I believe I did. How utterly inspiring. But, what can one really expect in the circumstances? Come back, perfectly normal, and then the dead love of your life shows up, and he's dirty.   
  
He just smirks, and pulls out another cigarette. "Stunning observation, Faye. Yes I am, in fact, dead, and have decided to come back and haunt you. Brilliant." Oh, but of course, even if he is dead, he can't lose that sterling sense of humor. This is just too much. After a year away, a year thinking he's dead, and year grieving his loss, he insults me.   
  
"Well, I'm sorry for being surprised! You go off to die, and you don't come back for weeks! What the Hell was I supposed to think? Then, after a year of shit, I come back and you're Mr. Asshole! Well this is just fucking great!" Feeling very stupid, I pick up my bag and storm off to my room. Which has some of Spike's shit in it. Well, this won't do at all. I toss his crap bodily into the hall, shut the door, and lock it tightly.  
  
Sitting on the bed, I slowly regain some sort of composure. What did I just do? I just cussed out the one man I'd ever loved. And now I need a cigarette so bad I can feel it. I search through my bag for my pack and light one up. The I lay back on my bed to ponder why I'd ever made the decision to come to the Bebop.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
OK, sorry, that was not exactly a good chapter, but at least I said what needed said. And I have the next chapter all planned out. Yep, I call it my Faye-and-Spike-get-together chapter. I considered making it mushy romance, but that just wouldn't be the Bebop way, now would it? No, no it wouldn't. So expect something dark and subtle. And sorry for the long wait on this chapter, but I was busy.  
  
~val~ 


	4. Angelic Sins

Hmmm.... this chapter was hard because I was reading The Great Gatsby, and got inspired to do the next chapter (cause there's this AWESOME visual imagery, holy crap F. Scott Fitzgerald was a genius), so I kept on wanting to rush this one. But hey, I finally found the word I was searching for! Profound! I don't know why exactly I wanted it anymore, but it's nice to know. And all of you, READ AND REVIEW! I get discouraged very easily if I think people don't like my story.   
  
And, for God's sake, I don't own Cowboy Bebop  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
My Beautiful  
Ch. 4- Angelic Sins  
  
  
So I messed up. Again. It's nothing new. I'm used to the feeling (like newly swallowed hot acid) of disapointment. My mind feels like a broken jigsaw puzzle of emotions, each one wanted to fit in somewhere, but they keep on clashing with each other, and end up forming a half-finished, discolored mess. I'm still processing the fact that Spike is alive, the rest of it is just too much.  
  
When he was alive- well, he still is alive, I guess- but when I didn't think he was dead, I was in love with him. The mystique of him, the way he smoked, the way he talked, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. I had never met anyone else who knew that. The way he walked, jaunty, uncaring, laid back, it sent shivers up my spine. The gung-ho attitude, the quick temper, his poignant, heartrending eyes, that told a story more eloquently than all the words in the world. I was in love with it all. Now I am faced with a question- do I love it still?  
  
He had left to die. He had left to live. He had left me behind, lost and broken. When he left to find his dream, I found my nightmare. And now? I guess we've both woken up. I don't know how to feel about him. Should I be angry that he left me in the dust, and never searched for me, probably didn't even wonder about me when I was missing? Or should I just be glad that he's alive?   
  
I spent the last year mourning for him, so I should be happy, right? I don't have to cry anymore, I don't have to drink myself into oblivion to rid myself of his memory. I don't have to be lost, alone. But I don't feel happy- and I'm slowly starting to realize why.   
  
No matter what, he won't love me in return. When he had left, it had been for another woman, another love, another life that I could never touch. And now that he has come back from the dead, nothing will change. His attitude back there proves that- I am a nothing to him, an annoying vixen that eats his food, takes his water, and gets in his way. I am a blur in his vision of a perfect world, a spot of darkness in his light dream. What does he care?  
  
I look up and realize that I've been involved in this bout of introspection for over two hours. My debris is still strewn everywhere, shirts and pants and packs of cigarettes inhabit the floor and bed, a testament to my uselessness. Slowly I start to collect them, as I wipe the tears from my face. After I'm done I glance into the small, grimy mirror in the corner of the room. My mascara is smeared, my hair is mussed, and my lipstick is beyond hope. I fix my appearance, but it seems a little pointless now. Still, the rituals must be observed.   
  
A bang on the door interrupts my self inspection. After stalking cautiously over I gently open the door. Spike stands before me, in all his darkened glory. I am painfully aware of the fact that I'm wearing only enough to slightly cover my scandalous body. But there's no time to worry now, I haven't showed him my weak side yet, and I don't plan to.   
  
"What do you want?" My voice doesn't quaver a bit, though inside I have turned to a child, petulantly screaming, "I want, I want, I want!" Trying to quell my obsessions, I stand up a little straighter.  
  
"Can we talk?" Narrowing my eyes slightly, I open the door a little farther and step back to allow him entrance, and lean up against the steel wall. It feels like ice where I am, and Spike is the epitome of warmth as he stands brashly before me.   
  
Calmly closing the door, he turns to me and smiles slightly. It is then that I realize that he's drunk. There's more than a hint of alcohol on his breath, and his actions are ever so slightly muddled. But his voice is clear and honest, unaffected by the drink, or perhaps it's the drink that allows him to speak at all. "Faye, there's something you need to know."  
  
I cock my head slightly to the side, pursing my lips a little. "Oh, and what might that be? I'm ever so curious."  
  
He steps closer to me, and I can feel the heat radiating off of him. He's the sun, warming my feeble blue planet. His beautiful lips start to move again. "Faye, I... I have to... to...." Apparently finding that talk is too hard to concentrate on, he steps forward a final, deciding time, and those lips brush my own. With that one touch, the barriers are broken, and I step into his embrace. His silken arms wrap around me, a protective embrace darkened by the tendrils of lust.   
  
After breaking our passionate kiss, he starts to whisper into my ear. "I love you, Faye."   
  
He's lying. Love has absolutely nothing to do with what's going on here. I can't escape the desires that rule my life, my brain has been out of the picture for too long. My body holds all the keys, guards all the doors, and I can't resist Spike, even though I know his brain isn't in control either. When you've lived a life like mine for so long, sometimes you can't win anymore, and you just fall...  
  
And as we dance to the shadow dark tune of lust, I know that with Spike, there will never be a victory. I gave up years ago, this was a cage there was no key to, not even a lock.   
  
As I fall to the very temptations I was trying to escape and abandon my sanity again, I think one last thought.   
  
"I love this."  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Well well, that took a while. But I'm particularly proud of the second paragraph, I'm likin it. Oh, and I promise that this is going to get a bit more light-hearted. But that will come later. For now, I will make you cry! Bwahahahaha. Anywho, review me! If you don't then I'll know you hate it and never ever write ever again! *cries*   
  
~val~ 


	5. Empty

*Okay, first I want to apologize for how long this chapter took. Quite frankly, I got lazy. I had all Christmas break, I just didn't do it. Part of that was an uncertainty about how things were going to go. I have the basic plot lined up, but the little mincy details are a bit of a mystery at this point. Anyway, I got off my butt and wrote, so I hope you like it  
  
  
  
My Beautiful  
Ch. 5- Empty  
  
  
I wake up to Spike's rythmic breathing beside me. I want to just listen for a while, the sound thrills me. I'd always dreamt of this, believed so fervently that dream would come true. Too fervently. I just set myself up for disapointment again and again. And now... now I have that dream beside me, and I just listen to that even breathing, aligning itself to my heartbeat.   
  
But then again, the dream still hasn't come true. In my dream, my glorious, delusional dream, we come together out of love, not sick, shadowed lust. I love him with all my being, my very soul. Yet his is the love of darkness, the kiss of corruption, slowly bleeding me of my dreams.   
  
He doesn't love me. I know that, now more than ever. What happened last night was an act of pure desire, with some help from cheap liquor. His easy breathing still smells of alcohol, he must've had a lot. More of the amber poison that liberates our bodies from the dreadful overseer of the mind. He didn't come to me out of love, or romance, but out of a baser need. How drunk did he have to get to want to sleep with me? How many bottles did it take? Because I know he can't actually want me, fallen angel that I am. Pure, full of light, that's what he wants. Just one woman.  
  
Julia.  
  
How I loathe, love, and envy her, all at once. She was perfect. Perfect. That word rings of melodies I cannot hear, words I cannot read, speech I cannot understand. The world of purity has long closed it's doors to me.   
  
Groggily, I look up at the clock, realizing I can't stay here forever. 9:00 AM. How did I wake up so early? It doesn't matter, I should get a head start anyway. I promised myself I would actually work, I would earn my keep this time. So I stuggle out of bed, a task made more difficult by my eagerness to not wake Spike. Not that I have to worry, he's going to be sleeping for quite some time, and have a hangover for quite some time after that. I put on my new tank top and jeans (I went shopping before I got to the ship), and head for the shower. Which has cold water. Figures.   
  
After a rather quick shower I'm eating breakfast on the couch next to a drowsy Jet. "Any bounties?"  
  
He blinks at me before nodding. "Yah, we've got quite a juicy catch on Callisto, once we get there."  
  
"Callisto?! Ugh, I hate that place... so cold!"  
  
"Maybe if you wore a little more clothing you wouldn't have such a problem." He's smirking. Sure, smirk away baldy. I feel a bit of attitude coming up but I push it down again, must be grateful, must be grateful. I take a deep breath to calm myself.  
  
"So when are we getting to Callisto anyway?"  
  
"Oh, I'd say about 12 hours. After that there's an hour of landing procedure, they're so strict about that sort of thing on Callisto. So I'd say you have a good 13 hours of free time!"  
  
He says it like it's a good thing. It's not. That means 13 hours of time trapped on a ship with Spike, a person I'd rather avoid right now. Jet must have seen my face pale, because he asks, "Are you alright Faye? You look a bit sick." That's Jet for ya, he's a good guy.  
  
"No, I'm fine! Just fine! I think I'm going to go work out now!" I stammer out an explanation as I race away to the top of the ship, which holds my favorite device, the punching bag. I start to work out my anger and nervousness on the innocent bag. It really doesn't deserve this. I'm so engrossed in what I'm doing that I don't even notice Spike until he grabs and holds the punching bag.   
  
"Faye, we need to talk..."  
  
He's going to say that last night was a mistake. And it was a mistake. I shouldn't have been so weak, even if it was Spike. So I strike a cocky pose, every inch the hard-hearted bitch. Now if only I could really pull it off...  
  
"Faye, I really didn't mean for that to happen..." Can I call it or what? Even though my heart feels like someone very determined is screwing it with a clamp I can't help but feel some satisfaction. Spike has the same weakness. He just couldn't resist a good fuck. I'm not alone in that respect, at least.  
  
"What I mean to say is... well... sorry, I guess." And now he's... apologizing? I'm a bit shocked, I must say. I was thinking he'd merely brush me off like an annoying piece of lint.   
  
"You're... apologizing... to me?" I have to verify this amazing fact.  
  
"Yes." He was perfectly casual about it, of course. "What I meant to do, in fact, was invite you to dinner."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"No, no I'm not. So take it or leave it, I'll be in my room." And with that he strolls out, leaving me stunned in his wake, a bit lost, and very confused.   
  
"Fuck." I say as I turn as punch the bag once more.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Hahah, done. I'm struggling a bit to keep Spike and Faye in character, which is clogging the writing process a bit. I need to watch Bebop again, I guess. I'm afraid that chapter wasn't tip-top, but it had it's moments, and I'll be sure to make the next one better. But don't expect it for at least a week, I'm in the middle of finals... aiya...  
  
~val~ 


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